Y as Yes
These are simple words. These are simple words that she, Dana Scully, would restrain to tell him, would keep in her mouth when they were about to come out. For so many years.
Because she was assigned to debunk his work and criticize his theories. Because she was a fierce woman in a world of men, because she's an independent mind. Because she wouldn't let an equal partner give her orders or decide what she had to do.
And when he became more than a partner but a friend, when she could trust him with all her heart, she would keep not pronouncing these words.
Because she hadn't feel the need to reassure him by them, because their non verbal communication would speak loud and clear and would be enough.
Finally, when she was lost and confused by her sentiments, when she had hard time to define what was precisely their relationship, she would lock and hide these words in a vault and behind walls.
Because she was afraid of their consequences, because she wasn't ready to tell him, to whisper them in his ear, to confess these simple words.
'Yes.' 'Yes, Mulder.' 'Yes. Yes. Yes.'
These are sweet words. These are sweet words that he, Fox Mulder, had gained, had earned and had deserved to hear. After so many years seeking them.
Because he wanted to be listened to and taken seriously, because he wanted to be considered otherwise than Spooky.
And when she became someone he would care of and who was taking care of him as well, when she was the friend he never had, he needed to be reassured by these words.
Because he was still so vulnerable, because he wanted to be loved for what he was. Because he wanted to believe he was worth to work with, to spend time with, to share theories and comfort with.
Finally, when he knew he had completely fell for her, he had patiently waited for her to confess these simple words of love.
He had been rewarded one night in his bed when she had awakened him, putting her soft lips on his and her warm hands on his bare skin. He then had asked her a few questions and she had answered.
'Scully, is that you?' 'Are you sure that it is what you want?' 'Would you mind if I switch the light on? Can I taste you there? Is that good?'
'Yes.' 'Yes, Mulder.' 'Yes. Yes. Yes.'
Decades later they are standing against the wooden railing of their porch. They are watching the sun setting, amazed by the outstanding colors and the scenery. She's settled in his embrace, her back against his torso, their legs and arms entwined and her head resting on his shoulder. He's holding her tightly and close to his heart, and right now he wishes he could stop time, make minutes last hours.
As the crepuscular light makes her hair glow as if they were from another world, he leans his head down to tease the soft spot of her neck with his lips and he slides his hands under her shirt.
Because he has learned for years how to make her pronounce these sweet simple words. Because he would never get tired to hear them, softly whispered in his ears.
And there on the porch, as the day ends in flamboyant colors, as he caresses her breasts the way she loves, as he rubs his groin against her back and kisses and licks her skin, she closes her eyes and murmurs almost inaudibly: "Yes. Yes, Mulder. Yes. Yes. Yes."